


Soul Mates

by Scribe32oz



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Eventual Romance, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Magnificent Seven AU, Prehistoric, Rape, Reincarnation, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-18 19:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14219838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe32oz/pseuds/Scribe32oz
Summary: They would always find each other. It was written in the machinery of cosmic design, they would always be seven.  However, for each of the seven, there was another bond almost as strong as their brotherhood and no less important.  For while they would always be seven, each of them also searched for the other half of their hearts.





	1. Troy

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by The Legend of the Quest by Tannertexaslady, I'm thinking this is how the Seven would have encounter the loves of their lives for the first time. Not sure where I'm going with this, but the idea struck me while I was stuck on a train this evening.

They would always find each other. It was written in the machinery of cosmic design, they would always be seven. However, for each of the seven, even when they were together, they were not entirely whole. For each of them, there was another bond as strong as their brotherhood and no less important, waiting for them to reach completion. 

* * *

Troy was burning.

Sobbing over her dead father, the one who could never acknowledge her, even though she lived in his house as one of his daughters, she who was called Medicaste, lamented the end of the world. Beyond the walls of Zeus's temple, she heard the wails of other daughters and the screams of mothers as their children were torn from their arms, cast down to their deaths because Agamemnon would have no sons of Troy become men.

The Achaeans with their gift of the wooden horse had tricked their way into the city, to now rampage behind its walls, committing every atrocity, satiating every lust with the flesh of innocents, no matter how young. There was not a house in Troy they had not plundered, no family they would tear apart. Priam of Troy, her father, lay dead where the beast Pyrrhus had slain him before the altar of the Olympian, along with her brother Polites.

Their blood had not even cooled against the marble when he dragged her by her golden hair and raped her in front of Zeus, while she was weeping in despair at their loss. A savage brute, he used his fists to subdue her and laughed in sadistic pleasure at her degradation until his final thrust. Leaving her covered in blood and seed, he barely gave her a second glance once he was done.

“Are you taking her as your spoil then?”

“She's one of Priam's bastards,” he regarded her with utter contempt as he addressed one of his men who entered the temple, fastening his clothes into place while standing over her like an Achaean prince, when he was barely human. “No value whatsoever, I have my eye on Andromache. You can take her if you want Nikos. I have had my fill.”

She sobbed in despair, hearing how callously he spoke of stealing her virtue, for she had been a good wife to the husband she buried, and knew no other man's touch before tonight. Lifting her head, she saw the leer of the man she was being given to, a creature whose sneer revealed his cruelty, as his prince left her to him. Horrified by the idea she was going to become this newcomer's property, she remembered the son she had hidden away in the palace, to save him from the Achaean massacre.

If this Achaean was to claim her, he would murder her son Belen like so many others already slain this night. She had to get up, she had to go to the fruit cellar where he was hidden with the other children and somehow escape. If she remained here, they would find him and the idea of her son being killed was unimaginable. She had to ignore the pain and stand up. She could not allow herself to fall under this animal's power.

Aching with pain because the beast had damn near split her into with the brutal rape, her flesh was covered in ugly bruises and she knew in fighting him, her arm had been broken. Forcing herself to her feet, she was determined to run, determined to reach Belen one way or another. She did not get very far when he grabbed her by her broken arm and made her scream in pain.

“Where do you think you're going?” He shoved her to the floor once again, drawing another cry from her lips.

“Let me go!” She wailed, desperate to reach Belen before the Achaeans found him. Her marriage to Imbrius had been brief, as it was for all wives of Troy, for the true crop of the city these ten years, were its widows. But he had been a good husband, a man of kindness, who deserved better than to die at the hands of the Achaeans and he left her a son she loved more than life itself.

“You belong to me now!” He swore and struck her hard across the face, causing her to fall back against the floor. The back of her head hit the hard tile and for a few seconds, the pain was so intense, she could scarcely form thought. It was only when she felt his hands grip her thighs to spread them open, did clarity return to her.

In that horrifying moment, she realised, he intended to take her again and as the terror gripped her, could only sob in despair. She begged Aphrodite for help, to deliver her from this fresh violation. Fighting him with one hand as he ripped away the shift from her body, she knew there would be no help and this terrible thing was going to happen to her again.

“NO! Please!” She begged.

Her answer was another hard blow and she could feel the black creeping across her mind, and knew if she surrendered to it, her child would die. She would awaken to find herself on a ship bound for the land of the Achaeans, and her son, her sweet Belen, would be rotting at the foot of the city walls. Breaking down into fresh sobs, she closed her eyes and prayed she could endure it, if only to escape after he was done.

But the cry of agony she expected to hear when he ravaged her, did not come from her lips at all. Blinking, she saw a sword suddenly pierced through his chest, its sharp point slipping past bone and flesh, to spray her naked skin with warm blood. He died with that single penetration and she stared in shock, wondering if she was delivered or about to die here with this animal. Someone shoved him away from her, his body falling on its side, blood spilling across the tiles.

Standing before her, was a soldier of Troy, one of the few left. She had seen this one before. He was the leader of the Seven, a band of hardened soldiers who answered only to Hector before the great hero’s death. The Seven had been Troy's fiercest warriors and had been praised by Priam, who loved them for their loyalty to his beloved son.

“My lady,” he unfastened his cloak and covered her body with it, his normally icy blue eyes softening with tenderness as he viewed her battered state. She saw his jaw clench in anger at her violation. “Come, lets us get you out of here.”

“I am no lady,” she sobbed, unable to look at him for the shame of it.. “I am defiled. I am nothing more than an Achaeans harlot.”

“You are a daughter of Priam and that is all you will ever be to me,” he stated coolly, his hard expression showed surprising affection as he beheld her in his gaze. Without allowing her further protest, he picked her up, still bundled in his cloak. “We are leaving. We go to join Aeneas at the far end of the city.”

“I cannot!” She wailed. “Belen, my son still lives...”

“We have him,” he said quickly, dismissing that fear. “We found him and as many of the other children as we could. Your son waits with what is left of us. There is a ship waiting. Aeneas says it will take us to a new a land, a land with seven hills. We will be safe there.”

“Thank you,” she wept and buried her face in his shoulder, weeping from relief. Behind him, she saw another member of the Seven, a younger man with eyes as blue as sapphire, keeping watch on the doors, so they would not be accosted by the demon Achaeans who had brought about the fall of Troy.

“I will protect you my lady,” he said tenderly, brushing the golden strands from her face. “No one will harm you while there is breath in my body.”

And when she looked into his eyes, despite her despair, she believed him.

 


	2. Mammoths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking some inspiration here from Jean M Auel’s Earth Children series.

**Somewhere in Europe during the Pleistocene**

**13,000 years ago**

 

 **S** he sat perched on top of a flat boulder, ignoring the snowfall and the wind sweeping across the snow covered plain. Even though she was clad in furs, taken from Hill Camp two seasons ago, she could feel the iciness so deep in her bones, and knew she would never know warmth again. It did not matter, not after today.

Winter had yet to come, but it was close.  She could still see the green of the grasslands, waiting to emerge when the sun rose high enough in the sky to thin the snow on the ground, giving them the sustenance to thrive for just a little longer. The herd however, did not appear prepared to wait. They moved with the wind sweeping across the land, quaking the ground as they continued across the field.

In this last day of her life, Anka of the Sunlands watched them with a mixture of wonder and sorrow. They were so beautiful, these beasts, the Old Tongue called the mammoths. She watched them lumber past her in the nearby distance, projecting majestic elegance with their curled tusks and thick shaggy coats. Indifferent to her, Anka watched them leave the area, heading to the tall forest of conifers in the north, presumably in search of new feeding grounds.

Frozen tears pressed against her cheeks as she watched them leave, knowing with their departure, her journey was at an end. She could stop now. Taking off her furs, she placed the garments neatly on the rock upon which she had chosen as her final resting place. Perhaps someone would happen along her body and find some use for them. The cold assailed her immediately, making her shiver violently but she cared not for any of this.

Once the mammoth were gone, she noted other creatures on the plains. There were also aurochs and wild horses, making their own crossing.  In the sky, hawks and buzzards sailed overhead, watching for the small creatures to venture out of their burrows, into the light. She was shaking harder now, until the cold was becoming pain but this too, she expected. She was a medicine woman; a healer of the highest order and she knew exactly what was needed to die.

She was stripped down, wearing only the clothes of her native Sunlands, her shoulders and legs bared. Her hair blew in the wind, the black strands of jet, shimmering under the sunlight. Even though the great orb above was keeping an indifferent eye upon her, the world was too far away from its heat for her to be able to endure such exposure. If this was to be her death, there were worse things to see before the Endless Sleep.

She knew it was cowardice, choosing to die this way.  She was not a wizened crone, nor was she a young girl. She was a woman with eighteen seasons behind her and if she were so inclined, she could probably have a chance of life. If she were wise, she would find shelter or seek out a camp to offer her services as medicine woman, but she cared no more for survival because there was nothing to live for.

How she had come this far, she did not know. Perhaps the Mother of All had watched over her and given her the strength to fulfil the promise made to her father in the last moments of his life.  As medicine woman, she had failed him because her knowledge did not include the cure for what ailed him in this frozen land. They had both journeyed from a place where there was no need of furs to warm one through the day, where balmy nights cradled the body in slumber.

When her mother entered the Endless Sleep, her father, torn apart with grief had set himself the quest of seeing the tusked herds of the Winter Lands. He had not wished for her to go with him, wanting her to remain in the Sunlands with the rest of their people. Yet she could not bear losing him so soon after losing her mother, thus Anka left with him. Despite the protestations of their camp, they set out and walked into the unknown.

It was eight seasons ago and for six of them, they had crossed the world, encountering beautiful landscapes and so many wondrous creatures, following the Old Tongue further north.  Sometimes their journey took them on foot and other times, they travelled by river, on the crafts fashioned by one of the camps along the Great River. It allowed them to avoid the danger of predators, the wolf packs who signalled the beginning of their nightly hunt, with their proud howls to the moon.  Sometimes, she and her father saw children of Ursus with their large paws, catching fish from the river with one mighty swipe.

And while they travelled, her father Wilerk taught her the healing arts, so by the time she was a woman, she had sufficient skill of her own. For he loved her dearly and knew the sacrifice she made in following him on his quest to outrun his grief. Yet when the time came, she could not save him. All she could do was keep her promise to see the mammoths for him, to fulfil the quest he could not complete. In the two years that passed, she continued her journey north, avoiding the camps because a woman alone, especially a healer was a prize to be acquired.

She would be no one’s woman without her consent.

Yet she was no hunter and while she survived on what she could forage and catch, Anka knew she would not be able to make the journey back to the Sunlands. Not without a man to hunt and take care of her. No, this was the best course, to die now that she kept her promise to her father. In this place, surrounded by beauty, even though the cold was breaking her resolve, Anka knew she was done.

Allowing the heat to bleed out of her frozen skin, she simply wanted to stop. Closing her eyes, she let the cold swallow her, content with the end that would soon come.

* * *

Winter was coming, and the camp needed to begin the duty of stocking up for the worst of it. As was his place in the Hunters Pack of Seven, the tracker had set out from the Camp of the Four Hills. He would track the path of the mammoth, for to bring down even one or two of the beasts, would allow them to cure enough meat for the duration. They would hunt other things too. The aurochs were good eating, but it was the mammoth that would allow them to survive.

Though he missed the companionship of his brothers in the pack, he could read the land better on his own.  Besides, there was no need to tear them from their mates and children, when he tracked best in solitude. He had no mate to speak of because he was a young man still, so there would be no one to worry for him, though his pack leader could fuss like a woman, he thought with a little smile.

It did not take him long to find the herd, for he was very good at what he did, and he followed their tracks and spoors through the snow covered plains. He knew they were following what remained of the grasslands that covered this territory in the warmer months. With an idea of where they were going now, he could return to the camp and gather the others for the hunt.  What he had not expected to find as he made the journey back, was the half-naked woman sitting on a rock, watching the herd.

He had never seen a woman who looked like her.

Her skin was golden and her hair, shimmered like the stars against the black night. She had the loveliest face he had ever seen and the saddest eyes. What in the name of the Mother was she doing, sitting out there in the open, where anyone or anything could happen along and kill her.  He could not understand why she was not keeping out the cold but instead choosing to expose herself to elements, when her furs were within easy reach.

He who was called Winn, forgot all about the herd because she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and when her tears had rolled down her cheeks, his heart ached at the sadness he saw there. She was readying to die and for some reason he could not bear it.  

He reached her just as she fainted, her body falling against the snow-covered rock. Kneeling over her, he took her up in his arms, and marvelled in fascination at everything she was. His  fingertips traced the contours of her lips and luxuriated in the softness of her golden skin. Even through the cold, he could smell her scent and it made his heart beat a little faster. He brushed the dark hair out of her eyes and wondered why she wanted to leave this world, when she was young.

She opened her eyes at the touch of fingers against her cheek and found herself staring into eyes so blue, for a moment she thought she was staring at sapphire stones gleaming in the sun.  He was young and handsome, staring at her with such awe she wondered what it was he saw to inspire such emotion when everything she was, reeked of defeat.

"Who are you?" She whispered in the Old Tongue and hoped he still remembered it.

With a half-smile and a too soft voice, he answered, his eyes filled with growing adoration for her.

"Someone who does not wish you to die."

Staring nto his face and feeling his fingers touch her so tenderly, she realised perhaps she might not wish to either.

 


	3. Kavdlunait

**Skraeling Island**

**1,000 AD**

 

The  _ Kavdlunait  _ was dying.

She heard him cursing his One God as he lay across the pebbled beach, staring into the sun while clad in his ridiculous clothing of leather and iron. As if it would have done anything to keep the harpoon that almost certainly inflicted the serious wound on his body, from penetrating the chain links of his tunic.  Barely alive with his blood oozing into the beach, his blue eyes stared at the grey sky above, only a short distance from the boat he had been attempting to reach when the attack had come.

She, who was called Isapoinhkyaki by the tribe, had seen him come to the trading post before. He came with the rest of his party of seven, to trade for meat and skins to help them survive the winter.  Of all of them, he was the one who was most sociable, always smiling, exuding charm as he stood taller than the rest of his comrades. She watched him, always feeling a surge of warmth in her heart, even though she never exchanged a word to him.

The men of the village did not like him. Why would they, when all he had to do to win any woman was to simply smile their way?  He was not especially beautiful, but he was tall even for a  _ Kavdlunait and _ his body was strong and muscled, but it was not these things which enamoured women so.  __  It was the way he smiled and treated every woman he encountered like she was a star in the sky, deserving his worship.  She knew he had been welcomed into many beds, which was probably what led to his current predicament.

A group of Kayakers, most likely the mates of the women he bedded before had converged upon him in the night and though he fought well, for all the number who attacked him lay dead, he was still grievously wounded. Isapoinhkyaki had heard the talk from the Kayakers, they would kill him this night and did not know why she had followed them, when she could do nothing to help.

Until now.

Stepping out from behind the rocks, she knew what had to be done of course. He had to be returned to his people. If he were to die here, his leader with the black skins and the eyes colder than the thickest winter ice, would be furious. The  _ Kavdlunait,  _ the Kayakers called * _ Arluq _ , would demand justice in blood and her people were already wary of these men from across the great sea. Many feared if they liked it enough, the  _ Kavdlunait  _ would return, bringing more of their kind, supplanting the First people in their own land.  A situation not at all aided by this man’s desire to empty his seed into the women of all the Kayakers.

He had not seen her because she stayed out of his sight. She was nineteen summers, too old to not have been married but it was because no one had chosen her. She knew she was desired, but she had a will of iron, too strong and determined to play supplicant to any man, though her mother said it was the way of things. A woman had no power except what was between her legs and when there was beauty, she could wield it like a weapon.

It was not what she wanted. Her father had loved her mother, for he took no other even though it was his right to do so. His wife was the queen of his house and he loved her as such.  Isapoinhkyaki wanted a man to look at her and see someone who wasn’t to be owned like a breeding animal or a servant to look after his hearth. She longed for a man who wanted her to share his heart.

She wanted this  _ Kavdlunait _ to look at her with the same warmth she felt whenever she beheld him.

When she reached him, she saw him react immediately, raising the blade he still clutched in his hand. Around him, were the bodies of the Kayakers who tried to kill him and may have yet succeeded, even if it had come at the cost of their lives.  Seeing her, his eyes softened immediately and even in his injured state, she could tell he was admiring her beauty, even if it was mostly concealed under her fur hood.

“Hello there pretty,” he said with a smile.

She did not speak, instead she lowered herself to his eye level because she needed to see how badly he was hurt. The wound had to be assessed to determine if it required attendance now or wait until he was returned to his people. She would prefer it to be the latter for there would be consequences if she were seen saving his life, especially after he had killed so many of their own. He stared at her puzzled as she crept up to him with caution, making no threatening moves until she reached the mail surrounding his body.

“I bleed like a stuck boar,” he commented and once again, tried for a response. “Can you not tell?”

She gave him a look that bordered on annoyance and instead of scowling, she saw a little smile cross his lips and wondered if he knew how to do anything else in the company of a woman. She lifted the tunic, feeling herself vindicated by the belief this stupid garment had done nothing to protect him. Inuit harpoons were made to kill hardier creatures than this pink skinned barbarian from across the sea. This barbarian with the nice smile.

Her fingers examined him carefully and her brow knotted at the severity of his wound.

“You waste your time my lady,” he spoke. “I am done. If you wish to aid me, how about a parting kiss before I go to the next life?”

She turned to him in annoyance, wondering how it was possible for him to flirt even at a time like this.

His surprise at her understanding showed. “You speak my tongue.”

“I listen.” She said quietly. For that was her curse as well as her gift. She was smart, and she learned quickly. The folly of a woman with too much brains was she fit poorly among others of her kind.

Frowning after her quick examination, she concluded he needed far more healing than could be done in this place and the blood he was exuding would soon bring scavengers. Foxes and lynxes would close in thinking he was easy prey or if they were exceedingly unlucky, it might bring the great bear.

“While I appreciate the effort,” he continued to speak, noticing she was attempting to staunch the wound. “I think I would rather you offer comfort than healing,” he winked at her, having no idea whether she understood him fully, but liked looking at her nonetheless. Even under the hood of her parka, he saw a beautiful face with fiery brown eyes.

“Talk too much.” She bit back and took his arm. Without giving him any chance to speak, she started to lift him to his feet. Like all woman of the First People, she was strong and had little difficulty getting him to stand.

He smiled despite the groan of pain. “I am called Burnby but most call me Burn. What are you called,” he tapped his chest, even as he used his sword to prop himself up. He was convinced he was going to die but if she was so determined to save him, he could not help but cooperate with her efforts. “You?”  He tapped her chest in question.

She stared at him and let out a sigh. “Isapoinhkyaki.”

“Oh, that’s much too long my lady,” he grunted as she brought him to the boat, the one he had used to keep his appointment with the women of the village, the one its men took such exception to. “I shall call you Isa.”

“Isa,” she stared at him and rewarded him with a radiant smile. For a moment, she held his gaze, seeing those blue eyes sparkle and knew the feeling in them was not his natural reaction for any woman he encountered.  “I take you home.”

“You can take me right here,” he couldn’t help but say as she lowered him into the boat. “I surrender.”

Isapoinhkyaki, someday to be called Isa, wife of Burnby, shook her head in exasperation before replying with sarcasm.  “Never.”

 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Arluq -  killer whale


End file.
